


Vulpecula

by NerdMan89



Category: Fantastic Mr. Fox
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 01:49:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19189453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdMan89/pseuds/NerdMan89
Summary: After narrowly escaping a horde of angry farmers, Foxy and a newly-pregnant Felicity are on their way home.  Something in the sky tells Felicity that there's more she needs to say to Foxy.





	Vulpecula

**Author's Note:**

> From Foxy's POV.

VULPECULA

It’s twilight, the last blush of pink fading away to the west, and you’re following Felicity home. Following her, not walking beside her, because she’s still angry with you for nearly getting you both killed. Your tail still throbs as you walk- she cussing near pulled it off (okay, not really, but it sure felt like it for a moment there, and the idea of you losing your tail is mortifying) restraining you from trying to grab the slain squab you’d both forgotten in your haste to escape. And she probably saved your life by doing so, as a second later the double barrels of a shotgun poked over the top of the hole you’d dug together, and if you’d been climbing up the ensuing shot likely would’ve torn you to pieces. So you really have no right to complain that she didn’t tell you she was pregnant.

Felicity stops, and you see she’s looking at a tree on the side of the road. It’s a big tree, its branches extending far over the road and spreading dark shadows in front of you. Without saying a word, she walks briskly over to it and sits down, leaning against the enormous trunk; a lump forms in your throat, but you follow anyway, you owe it to her. She doesn’t look at you as you approach, and you see that as a bad sign. Her face is turned upward, eyes on the sky. You sit down, keeping a respectful distance, hoping that will help mollify her. You don’t talk, which is difficult because you love to talk, and you’re the first one to admit (if only to yourself) that you probably talk too much, but you can’t help yourself. But you must not do so now- you get the distinct feeling that if you speak before she does, it’ll make things worse. Fortunately, you don’t have to wait very long.

“Vulpecula,” she says softly but distinctly, pointing upward. Your eyes follow her claw to the newly-emergent stars, the ones that she insists look like a fox if you imagine a line connecting them, but you’ve never been able to see the fox yourself. You remember how she laughed and playfully swatted you when you said it looked more like a drunken albatross going into a nosedive.  
“That last star, right there, that’s supposed to be a goose, in the fox’s mouth,” she continues.  
“Oh, really?” And it takes a moment for the full meaning of her words to dawn on you- you’re just so relieved she doesn’t seem to hate you. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Listen, I’m sorry-”  
“It’s hard to deny your nature,” she interrupts, but her tone is surprisingly gentle. Still, you feel an overpowering urge to look at the ground, and you do.   
“Foxy, look at me,” she says, and somehow her voice is a velvet glove and a mailed fist at once.  
So you look at her, and on your vixen’s face is an expression you’ve only seen once before; when you first met, when in desperation she came your den pleading for shelter, and though you didn’t know who she was or what kind of trouble she was in you couldn’t turn her down, not when she looked at you as if you were the only one who could save her from some unspeakable fate. But you get the feeling she’s about to ask much more of you now than she did then.

“You promised me,” she reminds you. “You promised me you would never steal another turkey, chicken, duck, goose, or squab as long as you lived. I need you to mean it, Foxy. If we’re going to raise this cub together, I need you to mean it every day.”   
And you open your mouth, and you want to say it, you do, but now it’s like there’s glue in your throat, keeping the words down. It was so much easier when you were terrified, when it seemed that Death was breathing down your neck, when nothing mattered but escaping that fatal bullet.   
She sees your hesitation, and it hurts when she seems more disappointed than angry.  
“Foxy, I want to raise this cub with you- but I’ll do it without you if I have to.”

“NO!” You cry out before the last word leaves her mouth, cry out because the fear of losing her surpasses the fear you felt when there was a horde of vulpicidal farmers bearing down on you.   
And your cub- you wondered, even as you dug for your life, what kind of fox he (you’d love your cub either way, but your heart’s kind of set on a boy, a chip off the ol’ block) would grow up to be- you’re just as afraid you’ll never get to know. You see the determination in her face- she means it when she says she’ll go it alone.   
“Felicity,” you say, and you know she sees you mean what you’re going to say next, because her expression softens and she lets you take her paw in both of yours.   
“Felicity, I promise, for you and our little boy-”  
“Or girl,” she reminds you.  
“-or girl, that I will never steal another turkey, chicken, duck, goose, squab, or any other avian life form, as long as I live.”

You mean it with all your heart, and you know she knows it, because she finally smiles, and teardrops form at the corners of her eyes, and she leans in to kiss you. You couldn’t say for certain whether it was the best kiss you’ve ever shared- there was your first kiss, and the kiss when you asked her to marry you, and of course the “You may kiss the bride” kiss, but it’s definitely up there in the top five or so, the kind of kiss that makes you want to do nothing but lie back against this tree with her and savor your love. And she must feel the same way, for her head drops onto your shoulder and she snuggles up against you, letting you put your arm around her shoulders. Just a few minutes ago you’d feared this would never happen again- now you feel like the luckiest fox in the world.  
You know you can ask now.

“Honey, why didn’t you tell me?”  
“Oh, Foxy,” she says, and tilts her head up to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the starlight. “I shouldn’t have lied to you. I just- panicked, I guess. I know we’ve been together sixteen fox-months now, but I still- I wasn’t sure how you’d react, and I’ve been with foxes who’d run away in a fox-minute if-”  
“But honey, I’m not like those cussers,” you remind her, hoping she can hear the devotion in your voice. “I’d never stick you with a cub and run off-I’m in this for the long haul. You know that.”  
“I do know.” She smiles again, and it’s beautiful. “And after what you’ve said tonight, I’ll never doubt it again, Foxy. Never.”  
And you kiss again, but the moment’s interrupted when a ferocious growl issues from her stomach.   
“Whoa, there,” you say teasingly. “Is that you talking, or Junior?”  
She chuckles, pats her not-yet-swollen belly.   
“I think it might be both of us,” she says.  
“Well, let’s see if we can’t do something about that. Mrs. Stoat’s oughta still be open. Let’s go.”  
“Wait a second.” Felicity looks up at the tree’s sheltering trunk. “What kind of tree is this?”  
You know your trees pretty well- you dream sometimes of living in one, even if the prospects of ever raising enough money to buy one seem remote- and it only takes you a brief examination of the leaves and bark to get the answer.  
“European Ash,” you say confidently.  
“Oh, really?” She seems pleased at that answer, for what reason you have no idea.  
She looks again at the tree trunk, nods.  
“Ash,” she says softly. “That’ll do, I think.”  
“What’ll do?”  
She chuckles again, stands up and takes your paw in hers. Now she really does seem to be glowing, an ethereal light coming off of her.   
“Oh, you’ll see, Foxy. You’ll see.”  
And as you start down the road to Mrs. Stoat’s, heart overflowing with the joy of knowing she’ll stay, the joy of impending fatherhood, the joy of not having been blown to smithereens, you know it- you know that you love her enough, that you can keep your promise to Felicity.

You can, can’t you?


End file.
